Adventures in Self Doubt
by convenientdistraction
Summary: Sometimes you get a little jealous when you work with someone you love.
1. Chapter 1

_Disclaimer: There has to be conflict before there is fluff. Fluff ahoy in Chapter Two!_

Emma had always felt a little awkward standing alone in her office. Behind her desk, palm resting on her chest, fingers toying with a button on her cardigan, mumbling half-heartedly through the pledge of allegiance. But she would worry what someone might think, might say, if they passed her glass-walled office and found her not participating in the school's daily morning ritual. But then again, she worried what someone might think if they passed her glass-walled office and found her awkwardly, singularly, participating in the school's daily morning ritual. These thoughts were merely the tip of the iceberg of anxiety that consistently threatened to detour her day's activities.

But she relaxed into her desk chair as Figgins' chipper voice scratched over the ancient intercom, scrolling through the day's announcements.

"Children, I hope that you will join with me today in congratulating the New Directions on their win at Saturday's Regional Show Choir Competition. And especially to Mr. Schuester, for his dedication to the Glee Club and its continued success."

She smiled as she recalled Saturday's events, and also couldn't help but laugh to herself at the sight she had woken up to on Sunday.

Before her eyes had struggled open, she had reached for him. Instead, she had rolled over onto an empty, unwarmed expanse in the bed. Face pressed into his pillow, her muffled voice searched.

"Will?"

After a few increasingly louder attempts, she groaned and threw her legs over the edge of the bed, grabbing a blanket to wrap around her complete lack of clothing.

And there he was, stretched out on the living room sofa in nothing but his boxers, one arm looped protectively through a column of the four-tiered, winged figure-topped monstrosity that sat beside the couch. Sensing the impending danger, his eyes popped open as she tugged the trophy out of his grasp.

"Hey, what are you doing?" his sleepy voice scratched, as she gently set the trophy onto the coffee table.

"What are _you _doing? I wake up to find that my boyfriend has left me for another," she teased, climbing on top of him and wrapping the blanket around them both.

He chuckled, stretching his arms behind his head before pulling her tighter around him. "I'm sorry, Em. I was just so excited I couldn't even sleep."

"Well tomorrow morning, your arm better not be wrapped around anything but me," she whispered into his ear, before her lips latched onto the skin underneath.

"Yes, m'am," he had breathed, before flipping them both sideways onto the couch, seemingly intent on resuming their celebration activities from the night before.

Instead she had blinked in confusion as Will pecked her on the forehead and sat up, leaning forward to grab the trophy off the coffee table.

"Just because I love you more, Emma," he said, standing up to cradle the trophy in his arms before carrying it into the kitchen, "doesn't mean we have to force her to sit here and watch."

Later that Monday morning, Emma tentatively poked her head around the door to the faculty lounge, clutching her Tupperware to her chest. One particularly pushy biology teacher had been pressuring her all day to watch her afternoon classes, so that she could make yet another colonoscopy appointment. And everyone at McKinley knew, the day after a "colonoscopy" appointment, she would returned to school with her hair bleached and forehead frozen in expression. And everyone at McKinley seemed to know how to get out of extreme-makeover babysitting. Everyone except for Emma. She sighed.

Instead of finding her enemy ready to pounce, her eyes took in Will, seated at the center table. At least ten other faculty members were seated in the area around him, munching contentedly as he regaled them, chocolate chip cookie in fist.

"So this kid raises his hand, _again_, and whispers, 'Mr. Schue, I still don't understand the directions.' So I look down at his paper, and he had written the word 'which' in everyone single blank."

"What?" Ms. Castle snorted, slapping the table.

"Okay well, the directions said, 'Write the word which modifies the noun.' But this kid was so freaked out that he hadn't studied that he just kept reading 'Write the word which.' And he did. For twenty questions," Will said matter of factly, as the crowd around him burst into laughter. In mid-cookie bite, he glanced up to see her leaning against the door frame.

"Hey Em, come sit down," he smiled, motioning toward her. She awkwardly stepped out of the doorway. Maybe it was just her, but the others seems to scoot in protectively towards the table, making the already scant space even less accommodating.

"Ah, that's okay." She quickly shot her arm out in apology, which sent her the plastic lunch containers in her arms spilling onto the floor.

Will pushed his chair back to rise from the table, but before he could make his way over to her, she squatted down awkwardly in her skirt, scooping them back into her arms, silently wincing at the invisible grime that coated her lunch and her skin. "I just remembered, I ugh, I need to find Mrs. Patterson and tell her I can watch her class this afternoon," she lied as she trotted quickly out of the room, not stopping to catch the tiny tub of carrots that flew out of her reach.

That afternoon, the kids were beyond antsy at the assembly. Wads of saliva drenched paper balls and blobs of discarded gum flew haphazardly over the bleachers, coaxing Emma's sanity over the cliff of her own personal limits. Because she didn't have her own class to attend to, she had to position herself at the top of the bleachers, strolling up down the row, patrolling for the shenanigans that Figgins' hated to see but were impossible to avoid at two o'clock in the afternoon. Yet somehow, no matter how many times she prodded a sleeping hockey player in the back with the tip of her office keys or hissed an "I mean it," at a inappropriately giggly cheerio, shenanigans kept popping up like whack-a-moles across the gym aisles. And then she would spy Will across the gym, shutting someone up with a mere threatening glance, and frown at her own ineffectiveness.

She sat down on the end of the aisle as Figgins tapped the microphone at the bottom of the stage.

"Attention, children. Today we have a very special guest who has come to speak to us about overcoming adversity. But before he begins, I have some very special announcements to make." He waved his hand like a well-trained weather man toward the table of plaques sitting behind him. "As you know, last week you all voted for our very special faculty awards!" The crowd of students visibly perked up at the mention of a topic which actually interested them.

Emma's hands fidgeted uncomfortably, as the names were called one by one, twisting her watch inside and out repeatedly.

Funniest Teacher.

Smartest Teacher.

Most Inspiring Teacher.

She allowed her heart to flop around in anticipation just the tiniest bit as Figgins called out "Best Dressed Teacher," but her chin sunk down onto her chest as the entire study body erupted into laughter and applause as Sue Sylvester's name was called.

"And finally, children. Teacher of the Year. . .goes to Mr. Schuester. For the second time in a row!"

The crowd immediately began chanting "Schue-schue-schue-schue," as Will came up to accept the plaque. After bowing graciously at Figgins he pleased the crowd with a little wave before returning to his seat on the bottom row.

Emma leaned back against the concrete wall, padding the corners of her eyes with the edges of her sleeves, muffling a sniff that had escaped despite her best efforts.

She felt tired and numb and useless.


	2. Chapter 2

Four Kleenexes, three squirts of hand sanitizer, two covertly calculated trips to the girls' restroom to reapply makeup, and one afternoon bell later, Emma found herself stooped behind the filing cabinet with a can of pledge. Physically swiping away the dust that had gathered there over the weekend, she also swatted determinedly at the thoughts buzzing around her head, inwardly chastising herself for feeling the way she did.

_You should be happy for him. He works so hard and he deserves it. _

_And you don't work hard too? _

_Of course I do. _

_Well I don't see anyone handing you a plaque for doing your job. I don't see anyone standing in line to watch you eat your grapes. I don't . . ._

Emma squeaked and dropped the can as her mind games were suddenly deflated by the pair of hands that gripped her waist from behind and slowly pulled her body out from behind the cabinet. As she shifted around in his grasp, he pulled her flush against him.

"Whaaat are you doing here? I thought you had a rehearsal this afternoon."

He laughed when she wrinkled her brow, her eyes darted back and forth in panic from the crowded hallway of students oblivious to their actions. But as he brushed her hair out of her eyes and rested his lips on her forehead, she sighed relentingly, leaning into his chest for a much-needed hug.

_It was impossible to be mad at him. _

"I figured the kids could use a day off after Saturday. Besides," he sighed, letting go of her to plop down into a chair. "I had the _worst_ day ever. Seriously, Em, I don't know how I put up with this school sometimes."

_Suddenly, not so impossible._

"You had the worst day ever?" she parroted as she set the pledge on her desk. The questioned was more directed at herself than Will.

"Yes, I mean first of all where does Figgins get off taking so much credit for Glee Club winning regionals," he rambled, leaning back into the chair, "when he continues to cut our budget."

"Uh-huh," she choked out, knuckles gripping the paperwork she began to pack into her bag.

"And then I had planned to give a test to my 6th period class, but of course the powers that be announce an assembly out of nowhere," he sighed, raking a hand through his hair. "I can't seem to get _anything_ done these days, Em, and it's really starting to wear on. . ."

"Oh gee," she snapped, swinging her bag over her shoulder. "It must be really hard to be you, Will."

"Huh?" he snapped out of his own thoughts to look up at her.

"How many awards is it going to take, Will? Or do you have so many that you've stopped keeping count?"

His eyes widened at her outburst. "I'm sorry, are you telling me that I'm not allowed to have a bad day because I win an award?"

"No I'm _telling_ you that you're not allowed to be frustrated because you have to keep stepping over people who throw themselves at your feet!"

His gaping expression should have been enough to stop her. But the frustration and anxiety that had compacted in her small frame over the course of the day came rushing out all at once as she stood over him, shaking her arms in the air.

"What's next, Will? You're depressed because women keep asking you to sign their babies at the grocery store?" She was literally hissing at this point. "Or maybe because people keep trying to give you Tony awards when you're buying hair gel at the gas station!"

He rose from his chair. "I'm sorry, do I know you? When did you switch bodies with Sue Sylvester? Because I don't understand what you're trying to say here Emma."

"I'm saying. . ." she whispered as she gripped the handle on her office door, "that the mayor's going to announce that it's Will Schuester Day and give you a key to the city before I get so much. . ." she sniffed back a tear before choking out her words, "as a thank you card or a kind word from someone. Anyone. That I work with. Because I'm a awkward, nervous, babbling pushover. Oh and apparently incompetent as well. And that hurts Will. _That's _what I'm saying."

She didn't stop as he called to her when she pushed open her door and walked towards the exit.

And she kept walking when she could hear his shoes slapping the pavement ten paces behind her as she walked to her car in the faculty parking lot.

And even though she knew he was standing behind her as she threw her bag into the trunk and slammed it shut, she was still surprised when she felt his arms wrap protectively around her from behind.

"Let me go," she whimpered unconvincingly, swiping at her tears as she leaned backwards into him. They stood there silently for a minute, while her breathing slowed, before he spoke into her hair.

"Do you know why Mrs. Patterson always asks you to watch her class when she's out?"

"Because she can smell fear?"

"No." He swiveled her around in his grasp. "Because she is so embarrassed about having her face frozen that Emma Pillsbury is the only person she trusts. That Emma Pillsbury is the only person in this school who won't look at her funny or judge her."

"But you would never do that either."

"That's because I know _you_ would be disappointed in me," he grinned as traced a finger down the bridge of her nose. "And do you know why you are NEVER EVER going to win one of those teacher awards?"

"Huh?" She frowned at him quizzically.

"Because the kids don't think of you as a teacher."

"Well, that's just lovely Will, thanks," she said as she turned to walk towards the driver's side. But he grabbed the sleeve of her sweater and tugged at it playfully. "Em-ma. You do something at McKinley that no one else can do."

"Get ink stains out of cashmere?"

He laughed, threading his fingers through her hand. "Okay. Two things. Emma, what about when Artie feels like no one in the school understands his problems. When Quinn gets a picture of Beth in the mail. Where do they go? Or when Finn had a dairy-based religious experience and Rachel got her first restraining order notice from the director of the Ohio theater board." She giggled a little at the memories. "Do they come to me? To anyone that they're _forced _to listen to for at least fifty-five minutes a day. No they make a beeline straight for your office. And really, who can blame them? I do _exactly _the same thing."

"I know, I know," she smiled, leaning in to kiss him gently. "But still," she added, reaching up to tug at his tie. "A trophy would be nice every now and then."

"Em, you're like the life support system of this school. And unfortunately, that means sometimes people forget you're there until they really, really need you."

Her eyes widened. "God, Will, that's so morbid."

He laughed. "But lucky for me, I'm pretty much comatose without you. So I am _always_ going to need you."

"Always?" She grinned.

"Of course. Who else is going to hold the babies at the grocery store while I sign them?"

_One more chapter, which will contain zero angst and pure unadulterated fluf_f.


	3. Chapter 3

As the incessant whine of her cell phone jolted Emma out of a particularly satisfying dream, she slung her arm across the opposite side of the bed, letting out a very small "oomph" as she fell forward into, yet again, empty space.

Lifting her head off the sheets and twisting around in the bed, she saw Will sitting cross-legged at the foot of the bed. Fully-dressed in his work clothes, save shoes. Clutching what appeared to be her gigantic desk calendar to his chest. And sporting his trademark dorky smile from ear to ear.

Swatting her hair out of her face, Emma blinked her eyes a couple times to make sure she was actually awake before they froze in half squint. "Um. Good morning."

"Very, very good morning," he grinned as he set the calendar down next to him, before leaning forward and crawling up to her on his elbows, straddling her frame.

"Is there a reason why you were creepishly watching me sleep?" she asked, sighing as he proceeded to sprinkle her face with kisses of varying lengths and pressures.

He pulled back to reveal a sheepish grin. "I wasn't _watching_ you sleep. I was _waiting _for you to get up."

"So that you could show me that you know how to dress yourself apparently?" she teased as she ruffled his hair a little.

He tugged a little at the waistline of her pajamas, leaning in closer to breathe into her ear. "No, because today is a very, very important day."

A brief jolt of panic flashed through Emma's brain. _It wasn't an anniversary, at least not one that she knew of._ _His birthday wasn't for another two months, and they certainly didn't have the day off from school. _

"It is?"

He faked gasped, falling sideways onto the bed. "Yes, did you not remember? That's _so_ weird, because I'm pretty sure that it's on your calendar." He sat up and turned to grab the desk calendar off the comforter, setting it slowly down on the pillow next to her. Her giggle turned into a yawn as she stretched her arms across the width of the bed.

"Come on, come on," he whined playfully, gently pulled her up off the bed by her shoulders into a sitting position. "_Look."_

Her eyes widened in confusion as she glanced down at the calendar she had never used. Her parents had bought it for her for Christmas, but she didn't have the heart to tell them that she wouldn't use it. God only knows the kind of bacteria that could collect on them from sweaty elbows and finger smudges.

And there it was. Will's handwriting. In giant red felt marker. Underlined three times. Circled twice. Six exclamation points. Smiley face.

"Emma Pillsbury Day?"

"Yes. I can't _believe _you didn't remember," he nodded anxiously down at the calendar before looking up to gauge her reaction.

She smiled weakly at him, placing a tentative hand on his shoulder. "Will. You really don't have to do this. I thought we agreed that I was just having a bad day last week. And took it out on you."

"I'm sorry, Em." He shrugged his shoulders, as his face turned stoic. "But I don't know _what_ are you talking about. _This_ is a national holiday. Correction: an _international_ holiday. Thousands of children, all over the world," he waved his hand through the air in exaggeration, "are waking up, and running into their living rooms to look at their desk calendars. . ."

"You're telling me the bush children in Africa have living rooms and desk calendars."

"Do you want me to finish or not?"

"Sorry."

"So, they're running into their living rooms to look at their desk calendars, and they're yelling, 'Mommy, Daddy, it's Emma Pillsbury Day!'"

"Really?"

"Yes, really." He began to stroke the back of her hand with his thumb, smiling down at it. "So I'm just being a good citizen. A good citizen of the world."

"Wow," she grinned. "I feel like such a philistine now. Okay, then what happens on Emma Pillsbury Day?"

"Oh a lot of things," he said as he swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood up, "But you're just gonna have to wait and experience it for yourself," he smiled, holding out his arms.

"I don't know whether to be thrilled or terrified," she muttered to herself as she grabbed onto them.

"There's not gonna be like five thousand flowers and balloons and stuffed penguins in my office is there," she whispered to him nervously as he pushed open the side door of the school for her.

"Penguins?" his eyebrows arched. After shooting a quick glance down the hallway to make sure no one was looking, he leaned forward, framing her face with his palms. "I love you," he announced matter-of-factly, kissing her softly. "And I love what you do here every day. Happy Emma Pillsbury Day."

Before she could ask anymore questions, he winked and turned to walk towards his classroom.

That day, Emma squinted in confusion as she peered into the gaping black abyss that was her faculty mail cubby. She sucked in her breath as she listened to the morning announcements, releasing only after Figgins had failed to mention her name. She even half-frowned at her colleagues in the teacher's lounge, having their morning coffee break, unmoved by her presence in the room. Clearly they hadn't gotten the memo.

She only began to suspect something was up when Rachel Berry tapped tentatively on the glass of her office during third period. Rachel herself wasn't an uncommon appearance at her door, but she usually glanced up to see the girl sitting in front of her desk, blazing halfway through her first dramatic monologue of the day's events before Emma had the chance to invite her to speak.

She motioned for her to enter, and Rachel coughed nervously as she eased herself into an available chair. They both sat there for a few seconds, each waiting for the other to speak.

"Rachel, err. ." she wrung her hands a little before reaching forward to straighten her stapler. "Did Mr. Schuester send you here?"

Rachel pursed her lips a little before answering. And then came the word vomit.

"Miss Pillsbury. I would just like to say that regardless of whether I may or may not have been sent here by anyone I have always appreciated the stalwart devotion you bring to student mental health at this school and frankly I'm a little embarrassed that Mr. Schuester, considering your. . .relationship," Emma cringed, blushing a little at the word, "has just now decided to make an effort to recognize the contributions you bring to Glee Club and to McKinley, especially considering the dominant, oppressive male instructional and administrative and not to mention artistic biases exhibited by certain faculty members upon numerous occasions. . . " by now Rachel was talking to herself, lost in her own thoughts.

"Ugh, Rachel," Emma blurted, fidgeting impatiently with the pencils in her coffee cup. "I don't mean to interrupt you, but, I'm a little confused. Is there something you need from me?"

Rachel stopped and smiled thoughtfully, leaning forward to place a hand on Emma's desk.

"You know, when Mr. Schuester asked us to do this, I videoed myself performing a legendary musical dramatic reenactment of 'Wind Beneath My Wings for you." She looked down at the ground nervously. "Not that it really fits because I'm more like Bette Midler and you're not really like Barbara Hershey, not that I even _like_ Barbara Hershey or that I would want you to _die_. . .," by now her arms were flailing dramatically, "but then when I showed it to glee club Mr. Schuester confiscated it and handed me a piece of paper. Turns out I needed ten pieces of paper. To tell you thank you for everything you've done. For me." Rachel looked up at her as she dug her hand into her skirt pocket, quickly pulling out an crumpled envelope.

She stood up to set the object in front of Emma as their eyes locked in acknowledgment. "I don't want you to read it now. Look I know what it's like to just be standing there when it feels like the whole world is moving by without you. In spite of you. Not noticing what you're trying your very hardest to be."

Emma choked back a sniff as her fingers framed the edge of the envelope.

"But I notice. And everyone else in Glee Club notices. And Mr. Schuester notices a little too much sometimes if you ask me," she grinned. "So just do me a favor. If you're having a really crummy day, just read it."

"Thank you," Emma mouthed, too moved with emotion to let words escape.

Rachel smiled in recognition before turning to exit.

"Happy Emma Pillsbury Day!" she chirped as she pushed open the door to her office.

And so it started. And when Finn Hudson awkwardly tapped on the glass of her office twenty minutes later, paper rectangle in fist, Emma was hardly surprised.

And by the end of the day, Emma was too busy straightening the neat stack of twelve pudgy envelopes in her side drawer to notice Will walking into her office.

"Hello, Emma Pillsbury," he teased, peering over her desk into the drawer. "Sorry about the meeting I had during lunch. Did we have a good Emma Pillsbury Day?"

"Oh my god, Best Emma Pillsbury Day EVER," she sighed, standing up to guide his arms around her waist. "How did you know that was what I needed?" She smiled, tucking her head into his neck, sighing as she breathed in his scent, enjoying the moment for a few seconds. "I love you. But I was so scared there was going to be a parade or sky-writing or something."

"Well when I told them to be creative, there was a rather disturbing, one-person reenactment of a _Beaches_ scene caught on video," he chuckled, kissing the top of her head. "But I confiscated that. And we took a different route."

"So I heard."

"And Kurt wrote you a haiku about your hair, but I told him a letter would be more appropriate."

"A haiku?"

"Yes. It was going to be a sonnet but apparently nothing rhymes with _bang swoosh_."

She laughed, "Well this is perfect. Knowing that if I'm having a bad day, or if I'm jealous because you win the Nobel Prize for sexiness or something," she turned her face up to nip at the skin underneath his chin, "that I am very much loved and needed here."

"Speaking of prizes, there is one more item left on the agenda," he announced stepping back out of her grasp.

"Really?"

"Well, two more things," he said, flashing her a lop-sided grin, "if you count the more private aspects of Emma Pillsbury that I plan on admiring, on this most blessed of holidays, once we get home."

"Will!" her eyes widened as she glanced nervously towards her open door. Seeing that no one was in the hallway, she grinned and tugged playfully at his belt loop. "Well if seems like if this is my day then I should be the one doing the admiring. But what's the first surprise?"

"Well, for it to work, you're going to need this," he said, grabbing for her hand. He reached into his jacket pocket and pulling out a very small, very square box. Which he then sat into her palm.

"Happy Emma Pillsbury Day!"

Emma looked up at Will. And down at the box. And back up at Will.

"Well? Open it silly."

_This story keeps going. One more chapter! And if you hate on me hater for cliff-hanger chapter endings, then I will email the next one to everyone else in the world. Except You. Mwah!_


	4. Chapter 4

"You know, this would be really romantic if we didn't already live together," she mused, holding the shiny object up between her discerning eyes.

He tucked the box back into his pocket. "You wouldn't believe how many times I had to call the mayor's office last week. Asking them what you had to do to get a key to the city."

"Well this looks like the key to a very, very small closet in the city." Her bemused stare shifted from her present to Will.

Ignoring her comment, he looped his own arm through hers and began to guide her towards the door.

"What about my stuff-"

"We'll get it later," he said, flicking off the lights to her office and then guiding her down the hallway towards the gym.

"Apparently you have to either pull a kid and six puppies out of a well or break the current hot dog eating record."

She looked up at him curiously.

"57," he grimaced.

"Um. Yuck. Yeah I'm not doing that."

He chuckled as they walked past the gym, stopping them both in front of a door.

THE door.

"But I think this is much, much better," he whispered, placing a hand on the frame. Practically glowing with excitement, Will reached into his jacket pocket again to pull out a small ring of keys.

"I knew these would come in handy," he announced, flipping through the stack.

"Will," she gulped, glancing around nervously. He stuck a random key into the lock of the door. "_Will._" The concern in her voice echoed down the now empty hallway, as she placed her hand over his own.

"I have no idea what you think you're doing. But we could get fired for this. Or worse. Let's just go home and celebrate. I don't need anything else. Especially not anything in here."

"Come on," he grinned, opening the door and motioning for her to enter the unlit office. "Aren't you just a little curious?"

She remained frozen in place. "I. . .I can't go in there."

"Why not, Em? She's filming at the TV station all evening. You didn't hear that the fifteen times she announced it last week?" He moved to enter the room without her.

"Don't!" her hand shot out. "There could be surveillance cameras. . ." Will's eyebrows arched in amusement, "or laser barriers or smoke monsters or something."

Stepping backwards, he reached down, lifting her up behind the knees and then carrying her across the doorway.

"See? No lasers." He sat her back down onto the floor. "No cameras," he said, guiding a raised finger to each corner of the dark room. "Just you," he tugged at her sleeve a little, "and me." His arm motioned towards the monstrous glass trophy case sitting behind Sue's desk. "And whatever your heart desires."

Her eyes widened in curiosity as she walked over to the case, squeezing the key in her palm. There was literally not an inch of space left on the four shelves which rose from floor to ceiling. Angels atop smaller trophies rested in the mounted gold cups of larger ones, and numerous plaques rested uncomfortably between the crevices. Several small gold cheerleader figurines stood guard along the base.

"Will," she shook her head, scattering the mischievous thoughts gathering there. "We can't do this. It's not right."

"But look how lonely they are, Em," he pouted, stepping forward to wave at them through the glass. "You can give them a much better home."

"Will, I am not stealing someone else's-"

He gasped. "Did you hear that?" He braced her shoulders with his arms, as he leaned his ear up against the glass. She grinned at his silliness, and then followed suit.

"There it was again!" he whispered, as their eyes locked. "'Take me home pretty lady!'" he mimicked in a squeaky voice. "Save me from this glass prison! Shower me with love and Lysol!"

As she was laughing, Emma's gaze landed on the 'Best Dressed' plaque that Sue Sylvester had won at the assembly earlier last week. "Well. . ." she began, angling the key towards the gold-flecked lock, I suppose it would do any harm to just look. I mean it _is_ Emma Pillsbury Day after all."

"That it is." He watched in amusement as she jiggled her small shiny present into the narrow lock hole.

"How did you manage to get this anyway?" She bit her lip in concentration, cautiously reaching her thin arm in between two trophies to grab the plaque resting on the back wall.

"Let's just say that Santana Lopez is going to be bringing wheelbarrows of breadsticks home for the next few months. Hey," he stopped her arm as she pulled the wooden square out of the case. "Are you sure that's what you want? If you ask me, the Emma Pillsbury I know deserves a trophy as a tall as Coach Beiste."

"True." She swung the large window of the case shut and turned the key before flashing a grin at Will. "But the last time I saw one that big it was sitting behind bullet proof glass in the choir room. This one is perfect." She laid it down gently on the desk.

As he wrapped his arm around her shoulder, they stared down for a few seconds to admire the spoils of his scheme. He laughed nervously, before speaking. "I know you must think I'm crazy, and I know it's not a lot," he sighed, squeezing her shoulder as she leaned her head onto his own, "but it just. . .it just breaks my heart to think that there are people. . .people in this school who see you every single day, who don't notice the wonderful, beautiful person that you are."

She felt her pulsed pick up as he turned her slowly to face him, "when noticing you is the only activity I even manage to accomplish most days," he raised his hand to cup her face, leaning closer, "hell, the only I ever want to do, for the rest of my life."

A million thoughts flashed through her mind when Will's lips found her own. And by the time he had looped his arm around her waist, deepening the kiss, eliminating the inches between them, she had narrowed them down to about a thousand. It was only when he began to very lightly trace his fingers down the lower half of her spine, that every moment, every surprise, every wish in the day's events poofed into oblivion. Leaving behind one undisputed, unprecedented conclusion.

Emma choked at her mind's revelation as she pulled back from his face, worming her way backwards out of his tight grasp. Misreading the grim determination plastered on her face as discomfort, he began to backpedal. "Em, I'm sorry, we shouldn't be doing this here," he rubbed his forehead. "Damn it, I really missed up and it's not-"

He stopped, watching her pick up the plaque and set it down on the desk chair. And squinted in confusion as she picked up the desk phone and lowered it, along with the cord, on the ground. He reached to scratch his head as she quickly grabbed Sue's empty protein shake cup and name plate, redirecting them to a side table.

"Um, Emma? Are you. . .cleaning?"

Her flushed cheeks told a different story as she whipped around to grab for the desk lamp, looking sideways at him with wide eyes. His sudden shell-shocked expression and very audible swallow told her a realization was beginning to wash over him. And that clearly his motor skills were failing.

"I know it's more romantic to just swoop everything off in a big mess," she rambled, primly setting the lamp on the floor.

"But I really don't want to be distracted right now," she grinned, hopping backwards onto the desk.

_x_

_x_

_x_

_One more!  
_


	5. Chapter 5

"Come on, you're always trying to get me to shake my Green Eggs and Ham Syndrome, right?" Leaning back on an arm, she angled her leg backwards towards her hip, reaching to unbuckle her heel.

Though nervous as first, Emma's mind read Will's all but frozen stance save a slow blink as encouragement to plow forward.

"Well, this is definitely something new." She bit her lip tentatively, as the clunk of her shoe on the floor punctuated her suggestion. Her gaze kept steady on him as she teetered awkwardly, reaching for her other leg to continue.

"Emma," he began, reaching forward to rest his palm on her knee. "Don't get me wrong, I have entertained the thought on more than one occasion."

"Really?" She leaned forward to pinch the base of his gray tie between her fingertips, tugging it ever so slightly.

"Remember when Figgins caught me staring off into space at that god awful technology seminar we had last month?"

"Yes," she grinned, swinging her legs back and forth thoughtfully, as though sitting on Sue Sylvester's desk in the dark were the most natural thing in the world to her. He sat down beside her and exhaled.

"Yeah, we were doing it on the couch in my office."

"We were?" Her eyes widened in surprise and amusement. "What about the day we had that woman with the coma-inducing power point about effective assessments?"

"Your office."

"But there's a glass wall in my office."

"Oh I remember, what else do you think I had you pressed up against?"

She choked in surprise at the thought, pausing the motion of her bare feet. "Wow. Uh. . .did I enjoy that?"

He breathed out a soft laugh, rubbing his palms up and down his now flushed face in embarrassment. "Yeah, if I recall correctly, you enjoyed it very much. So much that there was an encore performance three days later when I got bored monitoring detention. I'm sure the tax payers of Allen County would be glad to know all of their educational development dollars are going to good use."

"I had no idea this was such an extracurricular activity of yours," she mused, while they both watched her guide her hand onto his thigh.

"Emma," he looked down, negotiating with her fingers, which had begun to scratch light, teasing patterns on his jeans. "Nothing would make me happier than for us to grab our belongings, get in the car, and drive home to enjoy each other and the rest of your day."

"Wi-ll," she protested, in a soft almost inaudible whine. "Apparently I already missed the last three times. The door's locked, no one's around, and right now our house and our bed, are a million miles away."

"A million miles?" he repeated, reaching over to tuck a stray hair behind her ear.

Wrapping her fingers around the edge of desk, she scooted herself sideways, uniting their hips. "In proportion to how adorable you have been today," she calculated, winding a leg around his own, looking up at him, "and to how handsome you look right now. . .yes."

Emma guessed that he felt the almost electric connection between their locked sides, but the slight darting of his tongue was all the confirmation she needed, leaning forward to rest her lips on the tip of his jaw line. He shivered when she nudged her nose playfully against the skin behind his ear.

"How far does our bed feel now?" she asked, knowing he could feel her grin on his neck.

"Astronomical units. Light years." He wound his arm around her waist, as she giggled.

"Stop it Will, you know I can't resist it when you talk nerdy to me," she teased, redirecting her kisses in a trail down the warmth of his neck. Already her head was practically swimming in color from the contact she had craved all day, the smell of soap and another undiscovered element distinctly his own-the traces of him she sought out in the collars of his jackets and the face of his pillow on the rare (but not rare enough) occasion they found themselves apart.

In her mind, every ounce of worry or doubt regarding the precariousness of their situation evaporated when Will lifted her chin in level with his own. His kisses were almost experimental at first, before he emboldened his attempts. Deepening, warming, wetting the contact of lips and tongue as he threaded his fingers through her hair. His ministrations jolted her forward, redirecting any stray trickle of anxiety back towards the pounding current of her mind's primary occupation. Which was, very simply put, to finish what she started.

"You smell like strawberries," he exhaled, pulling back for a second to catch his breath.

She giggled, placing a hand on his pounding chest as her mind floated back down to earth long enough to consider their actual location. "That's not me, that's the smell of a decade's worth of congealed protein shakes coating the walls."

A few more swallows of air from the fruity atmosphere were followed by a shared glance. Which spoke enough for both of them to realize that the other didn't want to stop.

As Emma nimbly, instinctively, worked open the buttons of her cardigan, Will leaned up off the desk to stand, tugging his feet out of his shoes in determination. After wrestling her own shirt over her head, she stopped to watch him lean over to remove his socks and couldn't help but admire the view.

"I would, ugh, help you, you know," she ventured, shifting herself to the more narrow end of the desk as he loosened his tie and unbuttoned his white dress shirt. "But the floor. And my feet." She curled her toes in anticipation as he continued, not stopping until his tie, shirt, and jeans were hanging from the coat rack, symbolic flags marking their entrance into the territory of no turning back.

She shivered, not quite sure whether it was the temperature of the room on her now exposed arms and stomach or the sight of bare-chested Will in this new and vulnerable, albeit intriguing, setting.

"Um. Wow. Can I just say I really like this look on you," he teased, thoughtfully hanging her discarded items onto the coat rack. The additional lingering once-over her brain demanded at the appearance of his well-defined muscles was enough to embolden her further, and his eyes widened in playful suspicion as he proceeded to slide a hand up both of the slender legs which had suddenly encaptured his own in a very compromising hold.

That is, until the recently retired caution center in Emma's brain began to crank out a message.

_In a bored teacher's day dream. _

_Or a movie. _

_Or a romance novel. _

_It would have been brilliant_. _Perfect_. _Transporting._

But as Will stood and she teetered on the edge of the desk, the grip of her legs losing strength and slipping, their thoughts, previously immersed in the newness, the deliciousness of the situation, ever so reluctantly began to gauge the awkward gap between Will's height and the height of a certain piece of furniture. As her legs fell down to the sides of the desk in surrender, Emma sighed in frustration, leaning backwards, perhaps a little too dramatically.

"Owww," she whimpered, rubbing the back of her head which had bumped against the wood. "This is _not _going to work." She shielded her eyes with her palms, embarrassed by the ridiculousness of her proposal and zealousness she had exhibited in luring Will into this inanity.

"Hey, it's all right." She felt his palm, rest gently, reassuringly, atop her head.

"Oh my god, Will, this is _so_ embarrassing. I am an idiot," she dug her palms deeper into her eyes, "We could be having sex _right now _without fear of getting a concussion or being shipped off to Guantanamo but I just had to go and ruin everything. When we could be doing it at home. In bed. Or the couch. The floor. The shower," she rambled, listing off their previous conquests.

"Wow, I didn't realize you had so many items scheduled on the agenda tonight," he teased, leaning over to kiss her forehead, running a finger down the length of her arm.

She couldn't help but laugh. "It is kind of funny, isn't it," she grinned as she pulled her hands down from her eyes to peer up at the man standing over her. "I mean if you had told me this morning that Emma Pillsbury Day was going to end with me lying down half-naked on Sue Sylvester's battle station of a desk without anything to show for it, then I probably would have stayed in bed."

"Hey now," he began, tilting his head with a slight frown as he rested his hand above her stomach, his fingers tracing the edge of her bra. "The day isn't over, and I still have faith that Emma Pillsbury Day was a success."

"Look at me Will," she sighed, scooting back a little so she could fold her knees up on the desk. "Does the word 'success' fall anywhere within the vocabulary of the current situation? Anywhere remotely close to anything _at all_ that I have done lately?" She swallowed thickly, looking up at him.

Truth be told, she knew was baiting him.

And astonishingly, the knowing look he gave her in response to her question told her he that knew as well.

He knew that she was waiting for him to tell her everything she had needed to hear last Monday, everything she knew was already sitting on the pages upon pages tucked away in twelve pudgy envelopes. Lingering behind the meaning of a circled date on a calendar. Hidden between the touches and sighs and small kindnesses that pervaded the landscape of any day, every day, they had spent together.

And somehow, that was enough. More than enough for her. Reaching to squeeze his hand, she smiled.

Four hours, three stolen trophies, two returned keys, and one very successful example of love-making later, Emma found herself wrapped contentedly around Will. Feeling the weight of her eyelids, Emma's attempts to fend off the sleep she needed after the days' incredibly unforeseen adventures grew weaker, despite her desire to physically and mentally latch on to the last special moment of her holiday.

"You know it's kind of sad," Will murmured into her hair, "that we're not going to get to celebrate Emma Pillsbury Day anymore."

One eye popped open. "Wait, what? What about next year?" she nipped at his neck, demanding a response.

"You know I really wanted to Em, but there's another national holiday scheduled. Conflict of interest I suppose," he muttered.

She sat up in the bed, suddenly alert from the confusion and anticipation of the unexpected. "There is?"

Will grinned. "Yeah, didn't you know? I'm pretty sure it was on your calendar, and you-"

Before he could continue, she swung her legs off the bed and trotted into the living room. Lifting the calendar off the desk, she began to flip impatiently, tearing through the months until she arrived at next year's date.

And there it was.

Will's handwriting. In giant red felt marker. Underlined three times. Circled twice.

Six exclamation points. Smiley face.

Emma Schuester Day.


End file.
